


But a little way above our heads

by talefeathers



Category: Romeo And Juliet - All Media Types, Romeo And Juliet - Shakespeare
Genre: Act 3 Scene 1, Blood, Gen, Ghosts, Grief/Mourning, sort of, you know the one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-26
Updated: 2016-05-26
Packaged: 2018-07-10 10:08:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6978985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/talefeathers/pseuds/talefeathers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Romeo had been speaking metaphorically when he said that Mercutio’s soul yet lingered in the sun-scorched square, but he had not been wrong.  Mercutio had departed from his body, yes, but not so from the realm of the living, not yet.  He couldn’t, he knew, until this was done.  Until either vengeance or justice set him on his way.</p><p>He wished to hell that this were not the case.</p>
            </blockquote>





	But a little way above our heads

Romeo had been speaking metaphorically when he said that Mercutio’s soul yet lingered in the sun-scorched square, but he had not been wrong. Mercutio had departed from his body, yes, but not so from the realm of the living, not yet. He couldn’t, he knew, until this was done. Until either vengeance or justice set him on his way.

He wished to hell that this were not the case.

 _“Let go of me!”_ Valentine was screaming, struggling against Benvolio with all his might, Mercutio’s blade in hand. _“Benvolio, let me go!”_

Benvolio did not answer him, and he did not let him go; he held the younger boy as tightly as he could, tears shining in his eyes.

“Romeo, leave him!” Benvolio cried, his voice all but lost in Valentine’s rage, in the clash of steel on steel. “We have to get out of here! We must go to the prince!”

“Leave him, Romeo,” Mercutio murmured from above. “Leave him, you idiot. If Tybalt doesn’t kill you the law will.”

Romeo heard the entreaties of neither the living nor the dead. He attacked Tybalt with a fury that Mercutio had never seen in him before, a reckless ferocity that twisted his beautiful face into something monstrous. Mercutio should have been pleased that his death had inspired such passion. Romeo’s passion was all he’d ever wanted, after all.

Something like nausea jolted through him when Romeo’s sword hit its mark at last, bursting bloody from Tybalt’s back.

No, Mercutio thought, he hadn’t wanted this.

Romeo yanked his blade free. Tybalt fell heavily to the ground. Valentine swore weakly and seemed to go limp, Mercutio’s weapon falling from his hand with a clatter. Benvolio held him for just a moment longer, gaping over the boy’s shoulder at his blood-spattered cousin.

It wasn’t until Benvolio rasped Romeo’s name that the scene finally, mercifully, began to fade. Mercutio let go of the tension that had been coiled within him, let forgetfulness gently wash his wounds. For better or for worse, his tale was over. For better or for worse, he would rest.


End file.
